


Growth Spurt

by kronette



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2009-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:53:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newly seventeen year-old Dean glared as he watched his father pack a shotgun, shells, holy water and knives into a duffel bag. Left behind <i>again</i> as their dad went out to hunt something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growth Spurt

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [**spn_25**](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_25/) Theme Set 2, "A World Divided"  
>  Prompt #06.Apology

Newly seventeen year-old Dean glared as he watched his father pack a shotgun, shells, holy water and knives into a duffel bag. Left behind _again_ as their dad went out to hunt something. It was getting fucking old, stuck in the hotel room watching Sammy. At fourteen, Sam was nearly as tall as Dean, and could sure as hell take care of himself.

“You’re going to need someone to watch your back,” he wheedled, trying another tactic. So far, nothing had swayed John Winchester. Dean wasn’t sure that anything could.

“My back will be fine, Dean,” John growled.

Dean swore that Dad was avoiding his gaze. “Come on, Dad. What’s the point of training if I don’t put it to use? You’ve had us running drills since Sammy could walk. You _know_ I can do this.”

He stepped back as Dad slammed the bag onto the floor. Dad kept his back to him, shoulders moving like he was breathing heavy. “You’re to stay here and watch Sammy.”

“ _Sam_ doesn’t need watching any more,” he taunted, tossing Sam’s “new” name at his father. It had grated on John since Sammy turned thirteen – “It’s _Sam_ ,” repeated endlessly, with the snide tone and arrogant look.

Dad turned around, eyes cold and dark. “It’s not your place to decide when Sammy’s old enough to watch out for himself.”

“Really?” he answered defiantly. “I think I’d know before you would, seeing as I raised him.”

Instinct raised his arm to block John’s punch. He followed through with a quick jab of his own and dropped into a defensive stance. He stayed wary and alert despite the color slowly draining from John’s face. Even after John’s posture sagged and he wiped his face with the palm of his hand, Dean remained on alert.

It wasn’t until John’s ragged voice called out, “Sammy, come here,” that he let his defenses down.

“It’s _SAM,”_ huffed his little brother as he clomped into the living room, arms folded defiantly across his chest. Dean bit back a smirk as Sam barely had to tilt his head back to look their dad in the eye.

He cataloged John’s nervous gestures: scrubbing a hand at the back of his neck and blowing air out of his mouth. A thrill of anticipation started to build in Dean’s gut. Could Dad actually be considering taking him along?

“Sammy,” Dad repeated, though his voice was softer. “You think you’d be okay if Dean and I went out for a few hours?”

The sun exploding couldn’t compare to Sammy’s mega-grin. “Really? I don’t have to go? And you’ll take Mr. Sour Pants with you?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Sammy swallowed nervously. “Um, Dean, I didn’t mean it like it sounded…”

Watching his little brother squirm was one of the highlights of being the big brother. “I’m sure you didn’t. I’m also sure that the girl with the cute button nose that you’ve been ‘studying’ with at the library will know I didn’t mean it when I tell her of the horrible STD you’ve got…”

“BOYS!”

Dean flinched guiltily. So much for Dad thinking he was old enough to hunt. He sneaked a glance at Sam, who was flushed and staring at the floor, arms wrapped protectively around his chest. Dean’s gaze slid from Sammy to Dad, and he blinked in surprise at the grin tugging at John’s mouth.

“I think it might be a good idea to get the two of you away from each other for a bit,” John muttered, then addressed Dean.

“Get your things together and I’ll get the house ready.”

Sammy’s derisive snort halted both father and son from walking away. “’Get the house ready?’ Don’t you mean salt the windowsills and doorways in an unbroken line so demons can’t get in? Make sure the shotgun is loaded and upright next to the couch as the most central point in the house? Check that the windows are all shut tight and locked? Check the expiration date on the milk carton?”

Dean flushed as Sammy rattled off the Winchester’s nightly ritual with ease and sarcasm. It was something Dad didn’t know Sammy knew, and by the _look_ he was getting, Dean didn’t think their dad _wanted_ Sammy to know.

“How do you know that?” Dad asked in an entirely too calm voice.

An eye roll started Sam’s answer. “Dad, I’m not a kid. I have eyes, in case you hadn’t noticed. I can _see_ you and Dean setting the protections for the night. I watched you do it whenever you’d leave us alone. Do you honestly think I’m that stupid?”

Dean’s eyebrows felt like they were lifting into his hairline as Sammy—no, _Sam,_ pure and simple – continued.

“Never mind,” Sam expressed with a put-upon sigh. “I’ll get the rock salt. You set up the gun. I’ll take my chances with the milk.”

Before Dad or Dean could say a word, Sam had turned toward the kitchen.

Staring after his little brother, Dean couldn’t decide if he was proud or annoyed. The debate was immediately forgotten as he heard Dad’s gruff voice.

A breath that may have been an aborted laugh or surprise drew his attention. Dad’s eyes were twinkling as he said, “Car leaves in ten. Hustle it, dude.”

A smile that rivaled Sam’s lit Dean’s face as he raced back to his room for his duffle bag.

\- end -


End file.
